Penn Satire, Since 1899

I'd Rather Dance Than Talk With You

An esteemed scholar of posteriority once said, “Shake your ass, watch yourself. Shake your ass. Show me what you are working with”. Even though it was banned in 1996 by the Supreme Court, dancing has come back and nowadays everyone loves to dance, even the people who can’t. Yet many rival factions exist, vying for ultimate control of the questionably sticky dance floor. I shall attempt to clear up this subject, like a frat party when the cops arrive, and shed light on this obscure matter. Below is a description of the different types of people you will encounter at your average dance floor.

The Village Bicycle

The Village Bicycle, like its namesake, gives everyone a turn. Even people that are sleeping get a turn. It is a bumpy experience, but will awkwardly get you where you want to go most of the time. Pay no heed to the rust; the Village Bicycle is only good for 10 minutes. Strictly on a first come first serve basis, he/she/it (depending on how plastered you are) is an excellent option for beginners.

The Mantastic Four (Or More)

While other guys are checking out humps and lovely lady lumps, these fellows seem determined to stand around together and waddle in a corner, sipping on shitty jungle juice as if it were a martini. But unlike the martini, they are neither shakin’ nor stirred, not even by the Village Bicycle. Almost always found in groups of four or more, the Mantastic Four are the life of a party, if that life was a decaying corpse, and are characterized by their inordinately large right forearms. Boys just wanna have fah –un!

The What the fuck am I doing

Imagine the physical equivalent of any music produced by Kevin Federline. Now take a tissue, and wipe the barf off your keyboard. Great. You have just experienced the “What The fuck is he/she/it doing” dance. It is said that after 5 beers, all the ugly girls/guys go home. But the horror of this dancer never goes home. It unzips its trousers and pisses all over your evening shenanigans. Until it passes out of course. Then all is fine and dandy!

Butt Hunter

Wherever there is a vacant ass to be found, one man will be there. The Butt Hunter. You can run, but you can’t hide, the Butt Hunter will be on your ass like a pop tart in Somalia. You should really watch more than your back. Immune to the latest cock blocking techniques, the Butt Hunter has gotten stronger and stronger over the centuries, and many a woman has fallen to his asinine ways. There are two ways to fight off this beast. Constant vigilance and constant flatulence.

This group consists of 3 or more girls grinding against each other in a train formation, also known as the Coco Bongo. Their grinding is of a vigorous nature because, like most insecure college girls, they are in need of attention. Yet, when a male tries to join, they spurn his advances. Yet all of them go home drunk, and cry themselves to sleep about how they will never find the perfect man. Every weekend is the same story. “Hey we’re doing the coco bongo, and we seek attention”. Village Bicycles in denial. Tsk tsk.

Drink Sipper in the Corner

This type, predominantly male, goes and gets a drink, goes to a secluded corner of the dance floor, and observes the maddening crowd, with a permanently quizzical look, as if to portray that he is a sophisticated being, above the silly dancing. He nurses his drink, watches the crowd, and nurses his drink again; in a pattern as precise as a Swiss watch. Yet, the only thing he manages to pull off is being very sketchtastic. Bravo!